The reply was a ritual. “I love you back."
"I love you more."
"I said it first."
"I thought it first.” And a quick hug before Max went back to his room to dress.
This morning, instead of the expected, in the middle of the hug Max asked, “Where's the picture of you and Aunt Leah?"
His voice was muffled in the painting smock covering her, but she heard it plainly. What was this? Max had never asked about Leah. Never. Not a single question after she'd explained about the accident and death a long time ago.
Bree answered her phone at that minute. “Uh, just a minute, Bree.” And then to Max, “It fell off the wall a couple of weeks ago and broke. Why?"
"It's gone."
"It's pretty smashed up, I'm afraid."
"You gonna have it fixed?"
She drew away and looked at him. “I don't know. Do you want it fixed?"
"I guess.” And then more emphatically, “Yes,” and a vigorous nodding of his head. There was a sudden wariness about him that set all her inner antennae to quivering. His eyes didn't quite meet hers.
"Any reason why?” she asked, taking care not to spook him. For only seven years old, he had a worry wart as big as Texas.
"She wants...” He stopped and his eyes went suddenly hooded. “Nothing."
"What Max? Who wants something?"
"Nobody. I just like to look at you both and now she's gone."
"You said, ‘She wants...’ and then quit. Who were you talking about?"
"Nobody!” His voice escalated and tears formed in his eyes. “Nobody! Nothing!” He tore from her arms and ran from the room.
Kate stared at the empty door for a long minute before she remembered the phone in her hand.
"Bree? You there?"
"Of course I'm here. What's going on? Max is upset about something."
"Yeah. I'm not sure what, but I need to find out."
"Do you have time in your busy schedule to give an old friend a cup of coffee? Or do you want to meet me somewhere? Your choice of day, place and time."
"Why don't you come here? I'll put on a fresh pot. Come whenever you want."
"I'll be there in an hour. I have an appointment at Shurl's at ten thirty."
"You aren't having your hair cut!” Kate's hand went to her own wildly curling mop and automatically she tucked a loose strand behind one ear. Bree's hair hung straight as falling water almost to her waist. It was a long and luxurious, thick fall of mink-like silk, and her best feature. To cut it would be heresy!
"Just a trim to whack off the split ends and even it up. Nothing drastic. Do you think mine would look like yours if I had it permed?"
"No! Don't do anything to your hair! It's perfect the way it is."
"I'd rather it was curly."
"You wouldn't love it if you had it. Mine has a life all its own. And it doesn't listen to me."
"Yeah, well what it does looks spectacular. Okay, I'll table the perm for right now. See you later."
Kate hung up and went purposefully down the hall to Max's room. He was industriously making his bed, pulling the spread up and smoothing it to cover whatever jumble the sheets were in below. Kate knew the drill.
Without looking at her, he stripped off his p.j.s and began pulling on the shorts and shirt lying on the chair by the bed.
She had to be careful here, but with Max it was always the simplest to go straight to the point. “What's this about your sudden interest in Aunt Leah? Have you been thinking about her?"
He hesitated, then nodded and reached for a pair of folded socks.
"What about her, Max? Just ask me and I'll tell you."
"Nothing.” He still wouldn't look at her. He was hiding something.
"There has to be something or you wouldn't have brought it up. Are you thinking about twins? How they can both come from their mother's stomach at the same time?"
"No. You already told me that."
"About the accident? How she died?"
"No. You told me that, too."
She hadn't told him everything, but enough to satisfy his questions.
"Then what?"
"Nothing."
"Max.” Kate put a firm edge to her voice. They were talking about Leah and she had to know what was going on in his head. “I want to know."
He swiveled around to face her. He sat on the bed with one shoe on and one dangling from his hand, and his eyes were stubborn and set. His mouth trembled and she could almost see the wheels cranking around inside his head trying to decide what to tell her.
He blurted finally, “It's a secret. I can't tell.” And then, obviously feeling that the issue was settled, he pulled on the other shoe and pressed the Velcro fastening down. “It's a secret, Mom."
Kate was silent. What did she say to that? Kids could rack you up in an instant and go on about their day, leaving you speechless and without a leg to stand on, all because of your own words. Was he maybe talking about Stacey? Not Bree. Bree would have shared at least a piece of whatever it was. But he hadn't seen Bree recently. Leah? Oh God. Surely not Leah. Please, not Leah.
"Maybe you could talk about it with Cass,” she suggested.
He shook his head. “Nope. It's a secret."
"Between you and who else?"
"Me and—nobody."
"Who is this ‘nobody'?"
"Not telling. It's a se..."
"Yeah, I know. It's a secret.” She started out the door and turned. “Max, if you need to talk about anything, anything at all, you know I'll try my best to understand.
"Yup. Can I have waffles for breakfast? The frozen kind?"
Admitting defeat, Kate went down the stairs to put two frozen waffles into the toaster and warm the maple syrup in the microwave for Max. Her mind nattering about whatever it was Max wouldn't tell her, she got out the coffee grinder and threw in a handful of beans. She'd have to be patient and very slick to get at what Max was referring to but, she promised herself as she plugged in the coffee pot, she would eventually pry it out of him.
Max had just finished eating and gone outside when Bree knocked and walked in the back door.
"You make the best coffee in the world. I smelled it half way down the block."
Kate lifted her nose and sniffed appreciatively. “And you always bring the best stuff to eat with it."
Bree lifted the bag in her hand enticingly. “I stopped at the Bakery and Tea Room. Pearly June was just taking the Oblatens out of the oven. They're still hot."
"I could put on five pounds by just inhaling."
"Ever find out what was bugging Max?” Bree asked, putting two of the delicate cookies onto a plate Kate handed her. She followed Kate to the back porch.
They sat at the wrought iron table and Kate filled their cups from a carafe. A hummingbird hovered at the feeder and down the block a lawnmower droned away. Max's laughter floated from beyond the swing where he played with Babe.
"This is my favorite place in your house,” Bree said, leaning back in her chair, cup in hand. “Now, what about Max?"
"He says it's a secret. And after a conversation we had a couple of weeks ago about the importance of keeping your word and a secret being part of all that, it may be hard to find out."
"Maybe it's just as well I don't have kids yet. I'm not sure how I'd deal with that."
Kate talked around a bite of the Austrian cookie. “Most of parenting is done by the seat of the pants.” She swallowed. “The thing is, ‘they’ have a secret. Whoever ‘they’ is. And he asked about the portrait of Leah and me that used to hang over the mantle. I'm so afraid that he's talking about Leah."
With a cookie half way to her mouth Bree stopped. “Leah? What about her? Something happen to the portrait? I always thought it was especially good."
Kate reached for the carafe to refill their coffee cups. She'd not told Bree, yet, about Leah's activities since she and Max had moved in. Cass was the only one who knew, and she wouldn't have told him if he hadn't
been here for one of Leah's more flamboyant entrances. Maybe it would help, though, to get a second opinion. Bree wouldn't judge her sanity. She hadn't ever, even through the worst of Huey.
She topped up their cups, and sat with her hand still on the carafe. “I'd better tell you."
To her credit, other than almost having to close her mouth with her fingertips, Bree didn't react in hysterics or disbelief. She listened all the way through, and when Kate finally stopped talking, she shook her head.
Kate all but sagged in her chair with relief. Bree hadn't turned a hair. She believed without question, that Leah was somehow here. Bree had known Leah all her life, and she believed.
And she was more than a bit indignant. “You've been keeping all this to yourself for over a month? I can't believe you didn't tell me."
"It sounds like—It sounds like I'm going nuts. If it weren't for Cass being here when the horn went off and again when the picture crashed, I might believe I was!"
Bree's mouth stretched in a sarcastic grin. “Odd, isn't it, that those things happened at that particular moment. Leah hasn't changed, has she?"
"Apparently not.” Kate toyed with the handle of her cup. “But she hasn't harmed me. Scared me silly, but not harmed me in any way. And, thank God, she leaves Max alone. He sleeps through everything."
"Kate, you can't stay here. You need to move in with me. I have a spare bedroom. The two of you would have to double up, but I don't think you ought to stay here alone."
Kate gave a short negative jerk of her head. “Believe me, I've thought of leaving. But it wouldn't work. Who knows how long it would be before I could come back? How long before she gives up or gets tired of hassling me? And Max is well established here. He loves it. He has friends in the neighborhood and good memories of his grandparents living here. He needs the security of that right now. He needs it badly. And anyway, your landlord wouldn't take dogs. What would I do with Babe?” She sagged against the back of the chair. “No. I can't do that. But thanks for offering."
"But Kate, what are you going to do? What if she keeps this up? Gets worse?” Quickly she crossed herself. “God forbid, but what if Max really is talking about Leah?"
"I don't know. As long as Max is okay, as long as she leaves him alone—I don't think she'd actually hurt me.” And at Bree's suspicious, skeptical look, “I really don't."
"You have a short memory. Have you forgotten how she used to break all the rules, do something dreadful and then fix it so that it appeared you were to blame?"
"No, I haven't forgotten, but I did the same occasionally, as a child, and I know she wouldn't take an ax to me, or something."
"Oh God! Don't even say such a thing. How do you know what her spirit is capable of? How much her hate has grown in the ten years since she died?” And squeezing her head between her hands, Bree groaned. “Listen to me. I'm talking as if she's actively walking around in the house. If you're nuts, so am I!"
Kate shrugged. “I've even thought of hunting up a spirit medium and ask him/her to interpret. You don't exactly find them listed in the yellow pages, though. Not in Winsom, anyway."
Kate almost laughed at Bree's horrified expression. “You're kidding, right?"
"I know. It all sounds like woo-woo stuff, but I swear it's real."
"You don't have to convince me. I believe you. I admit it's hard to swallow. I mean—ghosts? But I knew Leah. She hated as hard as she loved. I can imagine this. I really can."
"Bree, sometimes I'm not sure I believe it myself. It's totally unreal. Hocus pocus stuff in the extreme."
Bree stood up abruptly and paced around the table. Her eyes were wide. “You have to come home with me. I can't leave you here, alone. I feel as if I need eyes in the back of my head just sitting at your table drinking coffee. And she isn't even mad at me. What must it be like for you? Go pack a bag.” She shivered. “It's this house. This beautiful, old, and maybe haunted house."
"Maybe,” Kate agreed. “I found a book at the library that had a 1995 listing of the U.S. Chamber of Commerce certified haunted houses. Maybe this one ought to be added to that list."
"Listen to you! Pack a bag and come with me. Now."
"Look, I want make a home for Max. A house with a fireplace and,” she waved a vague arm, “a kitchen made for baking cookies, and a backyard with a swing. This place is a god-send just when I need it most. I need to do this for Max, to make up for the guilt of choosing Huey for his father. I will, I promised myself I would, give my child the stability and security of having a real home. And I'm counting on you not to panic on me. I need a calm base here."
"Calm? Calm! When you talk about your sister being an angry ghost and terrorizing you? Calm? Maybe you have lost your mind. This isn't normal, Kate."
"I know that. But I think I have to ride it out. And I can as long as she leaves Max alone. Just—Just don't tell anyone."
"It isn't likely that I'd tell anyone something as crazy as this. They'd think the cheese was slipping off your cracker!"
"Exactly. That's why you can't tell. Huey would love to get wind of this. It would be just what he needed to take Max away from me. Please, Bree."
Bree put an arm around Kate. “Of course, I won't tell. I promise. You can count on me. Just call. Anytime. For anything."
After Bree left, Kate sat at the table watching Max, happy and contented, point his feet and pump toward the sky in the swing Cass had re-strung and hung from a tall branch a week ago. But though her eyes recorded the peaceful sight, her brain insisted on wrangling over another scenario. She'd meant what she said to Bree about wanting to give Max a home. She wanted him to have a fireplace, and a kitchen table, and a backyard swing. Somehow, there was a deep-seated need within her to do this in order to make up for the miserable excuse for a father she'd given Max. She had all that right here in her parents’ home. She wouldn't be driven out. No matter what Leah did.
Could it be possible that in Leah's mind the smashed portrait was somehow symbolic of their relationship? Ruined? Ended? Broken beyond repair? Despite her constant avowal to both Bree and Cass that Leah wouldn't hurt her, she kept seeing the jagged edges of glass in the rubble on the floor around the smashed portrait, looking for all the world like weapons of slashing, bloody mayhem.
And the big question, of course: could she continue to count on Leah leaving Max alone? For how long? And more importantly, was she leaving Max alone?
* * * *
The cemetery was mowed as neatly as her own front yard, the tombstones standing in sharp relief against the late afternoon light. A brisk wind skipped among the leaves of the old maples and elms, blowing her hair into wild tangles before it moved on.
Juggling a plastic jug of water and a handful of flowers, she stopped before her parents’ stone. Two entwined hearts had been engraved upon it, and their names and dates. No inscription. Everyone who knew them knew how devoted they had been. There was one difference today, however, and it brought Kate up short.
Fresh flowers stood in the steel vase on her mother's side of the headstone. The large vase of hothouse chrysanthemums looked so fresh they might have been picked an hour ago.
None graced her father's side of the gravestone.
She stared in disbelief. Who would put flowers on her mother's grave? There was no family left, anywhere, except her. And why only on her mother's? It made no sense. She stood, stupefied. Had someone made a mistake and put them on the wrong grave? She looked around. As far as she could see, other graves had flowers adorning them. The chrysanthemums seemed to look back at her, preening themselves arrogantly. A chill invaded her body. A cold that started from the inside and spread. Who?
The zinnias in her hand, which had been so pretty in the garden earlier, seemed small by comparison to the huge, gorgeous blossoms already there. Her mind was blank. She couldn't think. This was just so very odd that her brain refused to compute. There should be no flowers here, but there were. What did it mean? Anything?
Maybe not. Maybe she w
as making a mountain out of a molehill. They were only flowers, for heaven's sake. Maybe one of mother's dear friends had brought them. But if so, she couldn't imagine Ruby June, for instance, bringing flowers for only her mother. She'd bring enough for both graves.
Leah, again? She couldn't afford to discount any possibility where Leah was concerned. It didn't seem Leah's style, somehow. And yet, the showy chrysanthemums, flagrantly flaunting themselves in the afternoon sun, would be more to Leah's taste than garden zinnias. The only thing was that Leah was crazy about her dad. She'd never have slighted his memory. Never.
Walking only a few feet to her right, she stood in front of Leah's headstone. What was inside the casket buried beneath the manicured grass? What remained of her twin's physical body was there, certainly; she didn't care to think exactly what lay inside. But where was Leah herself? The excitement, the talent, the love, enthusiasm and energy? And yes, her faults as well. Where was she?
None of this meshed with Kate's long-held religious beliefs. The essence of Leah, of her parents, could not have been buried. Wherever they were, they were free. And Leah ... Of one thing she was sure. Leah was not confined to time or space. Leah was roaming.
Moving back to her parents’ graves and leaning over, she defiantly placed the zinnias in the vase on her father's side of the stone and added water from the jug she carried. At least, it didn't look so one-sided now. And they were flowers her father had planted every year himself, saving the much-prized seeds from one season to the next. They were seeds coveted all over town. The zinnias belonged.
There, she felt better. As if she'd struck a blow of some kind. The thought was childish, she knew, but she felt better for it.
Sitting down on the grass, cross-legged, she tried to empty her mind of the puzzle. Even if the flowers were hard to explain, and strange in the extreme, there were other things of more importance to think about. She'd left Max with Lionel for an hour just so she could commune with her mother and father.
"Mom, your Surprise Lilies are blooming along the hedgerow at the back of the house. They looked totally unreal the other day when the backyard was flooded after that big rain. The pink is especially delicate this year. They're gorgeous."
Dancing Ladies Page 17
